On a Mission
by JeanClaudeTheCat
Summary: He didn’t care that he was dizzy, tired and aching. He was On a Mission. He wasn’t good for anything if he couldn’t save people from evil. Oneshot that actually became a twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

Hey, this is my first oneshot. It's a little differently toned to my other stories. I just wrote it to do something at least a little fun, and this was the first real idea I've had lately. I hope you enjoy it!

I've written it to be set sometime mid Season 2. Wouldn't really work during Season 3 or 1.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

* * *

The wind was cold and Dean could taste the metallic rust in the air. Old abandoned factories were definitely some of the creepiest places on Earth. Probably because of the number of murderers, spirits, demons and rapists they attracted. That and they always echoed.

He shivered involuntarily and let out a breath as he felt a pain in his head. He shook it away. He didn't care that he was dizzy, tired and aching. He was On a Mission. He wasn't good for anything if he couldn't save people from evil.

A thought flashed across his mind. He knew too much about evil, had too much experience for his age. He was a young man, still in the earlier stages of his life. Yet he felt old. Old like an executive who'd just slept through the last boring repetitive meeting his mind could take, who'd soon obtain a weapon and destroy everything he'd worked hard for. Or maybe retire.

Dean looked around the dark surroundings, hazy with mist. He knew he didn't have much time. He heard a moan. It was a man's voice, and it wasn't until he heard the second moan that he recognised that Winchester growl.

It was Sam, it had to be Sam.

This was a whole different ballgame if it was Sam he was saving.

"Sam!" he yelled. His voice echoed around the room, but there was no response. He felt light-headed and weak, but that didn't matter. He couldn't see him; couldn't tell where the noise was coming from. He had to find him. He had to find a way to save his own brother; he was On a Mission.

It was then he heard the scrape of shoes on concrete behind him. "Sam?"

She was all voluptuous curves, glowing blonde hair and dark eyes. Dean turned away. She was a siren, a siren sent by the devil. He couldn't get distracted. He was On a Mission.

Hey eyebrows were furrowed. With desire, Dean hoped, because it was always nice to know women found you attractive. Even if they were evil sub-human women.

"Dean?" she said, her voice heavy with worry.

Ah, then the furrowed eyebrows weren't due to his manly good looks. Wait, how did she know him?

"Dean," she said again, and walked up to him. It could have been Jo, but he couldn't tell in the mist. Or maybe it was Ellen; he always thought for an older chick she still had a little something-something.

She leaned forward and touched his arm. The warmth of her fingers made him notice how cold he was. Her face was still blurry, but it was clear to Dean now that it was Jo.

"Oh, God," she said. "How long have you been here?" Moron, he thought. Distracting him at a time like this. Couldn't she see he was busy? He was On a Mission.

"I don't know," Dean said. His words came out slowly, like he'd just woken up at 4am. "Don't worry, though, I'll find Sam."

Her eyebrows furrowed again, but this time with confusion. "Sam's gone, Dean."

He fell backwards, or at least everything seemed to loom away from him. He was on the floor. Hadn't he just been standing? "What?"

"Dean, he left you here. He left you here to die." She was inches from his face now, and at this distance Dean could see the tears in here eyes. The panic in her expression. She put a hand out on his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dean looked down. Funny, he didn't remember having a rusty metal spike protruding just under his collarbone. He could almost _see _his collarbone. That was kind of cool. Sam would find that interesting. He'd want to take him into show-and-tell at school, maybe. Though Dean would have to change his shirt first.

He swallowed. There is was again, that metal taste. It seemed to wake Dean up, give him a brief flash of lucidity. Jo brought a soft white handkerchief down on his face, wiping away the sweat. She removed it and it was soaked with blood. She smiled glumly at Dean.

"Dean," she said, as he shuddered again. It was simply too _cold._ "Dean. Bobby and Ellen are coming."

"Is Sam… is he possessed?"

Jo didn't reply right away. "I hope so Dean, because… well, there's no way he would have done this."

Dean moved his hand, painfully and slowly, into his pocket. He pulled out his keys.

"Here," he said to Jo. "Take it. Inside are all… all my journals. Dad's stuff. You need to find out."

She was shuddering too, now. "Don't do this."

"You have to. You're like me. I know you'll take good care of her," Dean said, shivering.

"I will," was all Jo said.

"One more thing," Dean said, wincing as he moved his shoulders towards her.

"Yes?" Jo said, reaching out for his hands. She was now just as blood-soaked as he was.

"Remember… it wouldn't have worked between you and me. I could never be with… an REO Speedwagon fan."

Jo laughed. She was amazed in this circumstance she'd laugh. But it came bubbling out of her, hot and explosive. Even Dean managed a smile.

"Why do you have to joke now?" she asked, her voice small and strangely toned.

Dean didn't reply.

* * *

Done. Why not review?


	2. Chapter 2

Yep, I extended the oneshot. It would still work as a oneshot, but I wrote this because I felt like writing and couldnt come up with any new ideas. ;-) So enjoy!

* * *

Jo swallowed, fingering the keys. She stepped away from Dean's body and wiped her face with her sleeve, expression hardening. It wouldn't be long now, she mused, as she watched his chest rise and fall. She turned, unable to spend any longer watching him slip in and out of consciousness. She had work to do. She was On A Mission.

The nearest doorframe gave way to an even darker room, and Jo instantly felt the hint of a breeze. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She was not alone.

"Who's there?" she called, subconsciously correcting her posture and squaring her shoulders. In this environment, she was likely to be attacked by both mortal and immortal beings. She didn't know which she was more afraid of. "I warn you, I've got a gun."

"Is it done?" rasped a voice from behind her.

"Yes," she replied softly. "Well, it's almost done."

"I didn't ask for _almost done._" Jo turned to face the man. He was young, very young, with thick hair and acne-scarred skin that looked rotten in the exaggerating shadows cast by moonlight. Barely even a man at all. But that didn't matter, all Jo could focus on were those horrible eyes, almost glowing black. Radiating darkness into an already-dark room.

"It's as good as done. Look." Jo held up the keys. "Now remember your promise."

He laughed. "There's still the matter of the other Winchester."

"I did what you asked. Against all my judgement I followed your orders. Dean is dying in that room because of me. Now hold up _your_ end of the deal. Where is my mother?"

A smile in the dark. It was fleeting, tainted with malice. "No." Jo felt something around her neck, tight and cold. "You're about to learn the most important lesson of your _tragically _short life."

Jo couldn't do anything but splutter in response. She was being choked, slowly. Grabbing at her neck, trying to free it from invisible hands, she hunched over.

"Never trust anyone who can't die."

White-hot anger, burning from beneath her stomach. And then nothing.

* * *

Jo awoke in a cold sweat, her face sticky with old tears and drool. "Not real," she whispered to herself, feeling her throat. She stood up and padded over to the small hotel room sink, grimacing at the uncomfortable feel of her cotton shorts, now damp and bunching.

She splashed her face with water and looked at her face in the mirror. Moonlight pale, and etched with worry. "Not _real_," she told herself again. She dried her face with a paisley-patterned towel and stared at the window in the mirror's reflection. It was pitch black outside, and oddly cold for a June night in Indiana. Then she saw the headlights.

She stepped outside, only faintly aware that she probably looked strange outside in her pyjamas, and stood staring at the Impala - because she didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see his face this time so she wouldn't have more of those dreams. It shouldn't matter anyway, she thought briefly. She was focused, a hunter On A Mission; useless feminine emotion shouldn't play a part in that exchange.

The jingle of keys broke the silence. "Here," he rasped, throwing them at her feet. "I have no more use for it." She could somehow tell he was smiling from his voice.

She bent and picked up the keys, still cold despite having been in his pocket. A glance through the windows at a tangle of dirty-blonde hair told her that her mother was sprawled out in the back seat. Hopefully alive. Who knew she'd feel so dirty at this moment. "And she's...?" Jo began without any intention of finishing.

Another smile she didn't want to see. "Yes. I held up my end of the deal."

* * *

Finished. This time actually finished. I think. Make me a happy chappy (a female chappy?) and review!


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